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Sunday, April 11, 2010

Turnip, Flowered

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Oh turnip, you frumpy veggie,
you humble doorknob, laughed at,
ignored, purple as an erection,
citizen of soup and casserole,
in my kitchen, you’re nobody’s favorite.

But today you have sung
yourself. Plunked in a jar
on my windowsill, you are sufficient.
I pass to and fro
through the rooms, through
the daily miracles and you
put forth your own improbable flower,
a small, bumble yellow
on top of a snaggle-leaved stem.

One and many, turnip and turnip flower,
thread I follow in my mazy way
with only a pencil, a paring knife,
common light through a window:

given these magics, la,
even a turnip may bloom.





Sarah Busse is the co-editor of the poetry magazine Verse Wisconsin, and the
author of two chapbooks: Given These Magics (Finishing Line Press, 2010) and
Quiver (Red Dragonfly Press, 2009). She lives with her husband and two
children in Madison. For more information, you can visit her website at
sarahbusse.com.
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